


It Started With an Air Raid

by Evenmoor



Series: The Trials and Tribulations of Karl Langenscheidt [2]
Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Bombing, Debt, Family, Friendship, Gen, Headcanon, Prisoner of War, Resistance, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenmoor/pseuds/Evenmoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl Langenscheidt finds himself in an uncomfortable position but with a remarkable opportunity to repay a profound debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> German terms and dialogue appear in italics. 
> 
> In this version of events, Karl Langenscheidt has a sister, Greta, who was wanted by the Gestapo for suspected Underground activities. She was spirited away to safety by Hogan and the Heroes.

"Hey, where is my money?" the shop-keep complained waspishly. _"Someone has to pay for this!"_

"You're hovering again, Langenscheidt," Colonel Hogan said, smiling slightly at the nervous, almost twitchy German obergefreiter vacillating in the doorway to the small store. "Don't worry! We're not going to escape on your watch," the American gently reassured the man who was (nominally) their guard.

Karl swallowed; one could rarely be certain of anything around the infernally clever American. He glanced over at LeBeau, who was inspecting tomatoes with a delicate hand and conferring with the store-keep. Hogan and the Franzose might have been allowed to go shopping (under guard, of course) to buy the perfect ingredients for the gourmet dinner for the visiting general, but they would never turn down the free opportunity to conduct other "business" on the side while they were in town. "I am not worried that you will escape, _herr_ Colonel," Karl replied honestly, his tension not easing.

Hogan and his men would never escape from Stalag 13. Not until the day that the Allied tanks rolled up to the front gate. Of this, if nothing else, Karl was absolutely certain. The far greater threat would be that the Gestapo caught them red-handed on one of their little escapades outside of camp. And it would not be long before the Gestapo looked to the guards supposed to be keeping watch on them.

"Good to know, but it might be better for your health if you'd relax. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out," Colonel Hogan said, infuriatingly cheerful.

Karl hated going on these sorts of trips with him.

" _Herr_ Colonel, it is getting late-" he groaned as the American grinned, far too at ease.

"All right, all right!" Hogan acquiesced, throwing up his hands. "Hey, LeBeau, pick up the pace, would you? Our genial guard here is getting nervous."

The little Frenchman glanced over his shoulder at them, rolling his eyes. "One cannot rush the selection of the perfect ingredients, mon Colonel," he snobbishly replied, holding up one of the tomatoes demonstratively.

"LeBeau!"

"Okay, okay," the French corporal grumbled. After a moment, he put both tomatoes in his bag.

_"Hey, where is my money?"_ the shop-keep complained waspishly. _"Someone has to pay for this!"_

"You're up, Langenscheidt!" Colonel Hogan genially clapped the corporal on the shoulder. Karl fumbled with the money given to him for the errand; no doubt Hogan could have easily paid for the purchases himself - he and his men never seemed short on funds. Then again, maybe they didn't want to offend a contact by paying for his merchandise with counterfeit currency. Just as Karl handed over the cash, a siren went off, nearly startling him out of his own skin. The shopkeeper grabbed at the money before it fell to the floor, quickly stuffing it in his pocket.

"Air raid!" Hogan frowned in annoyance, as if his own bombers were inconveniencing his plans. "They're probably after the secret munitions works outside of town."

LeBeau sighed, equally put out. "The thanks we get for good work."

Karl, unlike the two POWs, was not nearly so sanguine about the situation. "We must get to the bomb shelter!" he urged them, not without reason. He could already hear the distant pounding of the anti-aircraft batteries.

_"It is safe downstairs,"_ the shop-keeper informed them, disappearing behind a curtain. Karl found himself propelled towards the concealed shelter by Hogan, almost flattening LeBeau in the process.

"Hey, watch the tomatoes!" the Frenchman complained as Hogan hustled them downstairs.

They made it down none too soon; the ground shook beneath them as dust rained down on them from above.

"Their navigator should be fired," Hogan griped amiably.

_"It is easy for you to make jokes, herr Colonel,"_ the shop-keeper retorted as another bomb rattled their shelter. _"It is not your town being flattened by these bombs!"_

Quite frankly, Karl agreed with the shop-keeper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl and the others wait out the air raid.

Karl huddled miserably in the shelter as the bombs pounded, rattling the small, almost claustrophobic room. He prayed that the air raid would end soon so he could just get back to Stalag 13 in one piece. As he started on this well worn prayer a ninth (or was it the tenth?) time, a massive explosion, almost an earthquake, shook the building, covering everyone in dust and sending them all to the floor.

"Well, there go the secret munitions works," Hogan remarked dryly as he sat up and swept the dirt from his jacket.

"And there go my tomatoes," muttered LeBeau in annoyed counterpoint.

" _Maybe now they'll stop demolishing Hammelburg and go back to England for some target practice_ ," the shop-keeper grumbled angrily, understandably not enjoying the situation.

" _Maybe someday they'll think of a way to steer bombs directly to their targets_ ," nervously suggested Karl, only half paying attention to the conversation. He could still hear the distant report of the anti-aircraft batteries, but the bombs had finally stopped. There might not be anything left of the munition works left to bomb, anyway, after the last explosion. After what seemed like an eternity, the all-clear sounded.

LeBeau inspected the sad remains of his tomatoes as they climbed the stairs back into the shop. "I cannot cook with squashed tomatoes, _mon_ Colonel," he complained. "Even for the Germans."

Hogan rolled his eyes. "By all means, find some more tomatoes, LeBeau, but make it snappy. We haven't got all night."

"But Colonel!" Karl protested futilely as LeBeau went back to the display, "I do not have enough money left to pay for more tomatoes!" Indeed, such fresh fruits were extremely expensive these days, especially given the season.

The shop-keeper crossed his arms defiantly at Hogan.

" _I will not give tomatoes for free, herr Oberst, not even to you!_ " he proclaimed obstinately. " _I have a livelihood to consider, after all, unless your bombers kill me first!_ "

"You don't take credit, do you?" Hogan facetiously asked, scratching his head. "Yeah, I didn't think so. Okay, I'll pay for it." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large number of bills. Karl's eyes widened at the sight of so much money in the hands of a prisoner.

" _And do not even think to pay me in counterfeit, herr Oberst_ ," the vendor declared, eying the money suspiciously. " _I have all the trouble I need without the Gestapo investigating me for false currency._ "

" _Don't worry, I have the real stuff, too_ ," Hogan assured the man in German. "You'd think he didn't trust me!" he joked to Karl, switching back to English.

Karl wondered how much of Hogan's counterfeit money had ended up in the pockets of camp guards, including himself, so he dared not to make any sort of comment to that remark. Finally, LeBeau found replacement tomatoes that met his approval, and Hogan payed the remaining balance.

" _Dankeschön, Märchenprinz!_ " the irrepressible American grinned on the way out.

" _Don't mention it,_ ever," the shop-keeper muttered grumpily. " _And don't call me 'Märchenprinz'!_ _I curse whatever Dummkopf thought of that name!_ "

"What other name would such a charming man have?" LeBeau snickered as he passed him in the doorway.

The ill-tempered vendor shook his fist at the Frenchman. "Bah! _If you never return, it will be too soon_ ," he glared at the little Frenchman.

Karl decided that discretion was the better part of valor and said nothing to the shop-keeper as he hurried after Hogan and LeBeau.

Outside, Hammelburg was in a state of organized chaos. Karl sneezed reflexively as the smoke from the burning factory hung heavy in the air; in the gathering darkness, pale ash rained down on the street from above. Fortunately, this area appeared completely untouched. Karl didn't dare wonder what he would do if the truck had been damaged or, worse, destroyed.

"Come on, LeBeau, let's get back to camp. I'll ride with you in the back of the truck," Hogan said as he glanced upwards, blinking against the ash as the thick black smoke swirled skywards, lit eerily by the fires below. Karl was grateful when Hogan hopped in the back with the little Frenchman instead of joining him in the cab - with his passengers hidden, he wouldn't face so many questioning glances; everyone was always on alert after an air raid. So that was one worry off his shoulders.

As he climbed into the cab, Karl compulsively touched the packet containing his orders, stored safely in the inside pocket of his jacket. After reassuring himself that it was still there, he started the engine and began the trip back to camp, glad to be on the way home, such as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Märchenprinz, the Underground shop-keeper's code-name, means "Prince Charming," keeping with the fairy tale elements to many of the code-names in _Hogan's Heroes_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl heads out with Hogan and LeBeau. The trip back to camp does _not_ go smoothly.

The trip back to camp started out uneventfully, which was exactly the way Karl liked it. The well-traveled, familiar road was pretty much the shortest, most direct path between Stalag 13 and Hammelburg, heavily-patrolled and (generally) one of the safest.

Then he reached the bridge.

Or, rather, what was _left_ of the bridge. It was now a twisted wreck of rubble at the bottom of the pitch-black ravine.

_"Ach du lieber!"_ Karl exclaimed in surprise and frustration as he slammed on the brakes, barely coming to a stop in time. He gripped the wheel tightly, hoping his heart didn't explode.

"Hey, Langenscheidt, what's going on up there?" came Hogan's voice from the back of the truck.

"Someone has destroyed the bridge, _herr_ Colonel!" Karl replied a bit breathlessly. "We will have to go around the long way." He threw the truck into reverse and carefully backed it up and turned it around.

"Alright, whoever is in charge of those bombers is really starting to _annoy_ me," the American colonel complained, his aggravation obvious. "They just _had_ to be ambitious and take out a bridge _and_ a munitions factory on the same night! They could have waited ten more minutes for us to finish up in town."

"Maybe they had a nice tailwind on the way and got here early," muttered LeBeau.

Karl hated the long route immensely. His eyes darted around nervously as he drove, his heart pounding away in his chest. The trees grew close to the alarmingly narrow road in many places, and he had no desire to be ambushed by Underground agents lurking in the darkness; all they would see would be a German soldier driving a truck by himself, a tempting target if there ever was one. This road was the perfect stretch for the someone to attack a solitary vehicle.

As if in omen, another truck suddenly loomed up in the shadows, seemingly abandoned and empty. It was half off the road; it appeared to have lost control and crashed. Fortunately, there was just (barely) enough room for Karl to maneuver his own vehicle around it. As he drove past the other truck, an ominous chill shot through him as he saw the reason the truck crashed: the windscreen had been marred by dark, telltale spatters and several distinctive spiderwebbing bullet holes. Karl could not see any movement in the cab.

He silently whispered a prayer for their souls, whoever they were, as he continued driving. He would tell Sergeant Schultz about the other truck when he got back to camp; the sergeant would see to it that someone investigated it properly.

After what seemed like an eternity, Karl finally pulled up to the checkpoint where this lonely stretch of road rejoined the main road. He was immediately challenged by the checkpoint guard.

" _Zeigen Sie mir Ihr Aufträge_ ," ordered an officer - and a young one at that. He couldn't possibly be more than twenty years old, probably fresh out of training, with all the arrogance to go with it. Karl quickly produced the demanded packet, which the young _Leutnant_ squinted at in the darkness.

" _Gefangenentransport! Es wird höchste Zeit!_ " the man exclaimed immediately, much to Karl's surprise. " _Warum sind Sie zu spät?"_ he demanded as he shoved the precious packet of orders back into Karl's hands.

Since Karl wasn't supposed to be on this road, anyway, he had no idea why the checkpoint guards would have been expecting him at all, never mind wonder about why he was late.

" _Der Luftangriff verzögerte mich, herr Leutnant. Es ist total chaotisch in Hammelburg, und die Brücke war zerstört_ ," he explained, still somewhat confused. Did these men somehow not notice the air raid?

" _Well, at least you are here, finally. We're checkpoint guards, not jailers, and this Amerikaner has not stopped jabbering in his barbaric language since he practically fell out of the sky on our heads_ ," the man grumbled. Even as the arrogant young _Leutnant_ spoke, a very annoyed-looking _Hauptgefreiter_ appeared out of the darkness, all but dragging a very uncooperative prisoner still wearing his flight gear.

It was fairly obvious where this _Amerikaner_ has come from.

_"These foolish Americans should know better than to challenge the might of the glorious Luftwaffe, herr Leutnant,"_ Karl said, in a fairly decent imitation of the _Kommandant_. It seemed the appropriate thing to say at the time, though he himself never believed it. Karl glanced over the prisoner briefly; the man heavily favored his right foot, perhaps having injured it after he bailed out of his plane during the air raid. There were likely others in the woods, as well, who would soon be picked up by patrols.

The American's mouth was definitely still functional, no matter what other injuries he may have. "Damn Krauts! If my foot didn't hurt so much, you'd find it so far up your-"

_"Halt den Mund!"_ the young _Leutnant_ snarled, striking the prisoner on the cheek. _"You shall not speak to a member of the Master Race in such a tone!"_

As he was dragged to the truck, the American still smirked defiantly. "Hitler's father was a mule, his mother wore army boots, and you're the bastard child of the Big Bad Wolf and the Wicked Witch of the West!"

Karl, who had climbed into the back of the truck to pull the prisoner inside, very nearly laughed at the insult, but somehow managed to squash it into a mere gurgle that went unnoticed by the _Leutnant_.

_"What are those men doing there?"_ the _Hauptgefreiter_ suddenly asked, seeing Hogan and LeBeau sitting calmly and silently in the back of the truck.

_"I'm transporting them back to Stalag 13 with me. They are why I was in Hammelburg in the first place,"_ replied Karl, who decided _not_ to mention that they were in Hammelburg buying groceries. Somehow, he just didn't think these men would understand.

_"Efficiency, in the army? Amazing,"_ muttered the sergeant as he all but lifted the unhappy American into the truck. _"He's all yours, and good riddance!"_

Karl dragged the uncooperative airman as gently as he could without arousing suspicion and shoved him down next to Hogan and LeBeau, securing him tightly – he would not be so willing to sit quietly as the men from Stalag 13. The American airman blinked, obviously surprised to have company.

"Hey, who are you guys? Krauts get you, too, huh?"

Hogan chuckled quietly. "Nope, not recently!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation Notes:
> 
> "Zeigen Sie mir Ihr Aufträge." : "Show me your orders."  
> "Gefangenentransport! Es wird höchste Zeit!" : "Prisoner transport! It's about time!"  
> "Warum sind Sie zu spät?" : "Why are you late?"  
> "Der Luftangriff verzögerte mich, herr Leutnant. Es ist total chaotisch in Hammelburg, und die Brücke war zerstört." : "The air raid delayed me, Lieutenant. It's totally chaotic in Hammelburg, and the bridge was destroyed."  
> "Halt den Mund!" : "Shut up!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karl, Hogan, LeBeau, and the new prisoner continue on the journey back to Stalag 13.

Having secured his new prisoner in the rear with Hogan and LeBeau, Karl climbed back into the front of the truck. The _Leutnant_ ordered the _Hauptgefreiter_ to raise the gate and allow the truck to pass through the checkpoint. As the sergeant walked to the gate, he leaned over to Karl and offered a few words.

 _"Be wary, Obergefreiter; these woods are full of men who would shoot you as soon as they saw your uniform. Keep to the main roads as much as possible_ ," he warned Karl in an undertone.

 _"Ja. Vielen Dank für die Warnung, Hauptgefreiter_ ," Karl politely thanked him, even though he was already well aware of the danger. He had no intention of straying from the road. _"Ich werde vorsichtig sein."_

 _"See that you **are** careful, Corporal_ ," replied the sergeant as he raised the gate. _"Many a foolhardy soldier has vanished in these woods."_

Karl thought he saw the _Hauptgefreiter_ look towards the _Leutnant_ when he spoke those last words, but he couldn't be certain in the darkness.

It was a good five minutes before Karl realized that he'd completely forgotten to inform the checkpoint of the ambushed truck on the road - they could have called Hammelburg themselves. It wasn't that much of a problem, Karl reassured himself; it just meant a few minutes more work for him once he got back to camp.

And then there was the matter of the new prisoner in the back of his truck. Karl could hear him talking with Hogan and LeBeau, though he couldn't make out the words over the noise from the truck. The airman would be processed and interrogated; if he were very lucky, he might be traded back to the Allies during a prisoner swap, or manage to escape (though not from Stalag 13), but he was most likely to spend the rest of the war in one rotten, filthy POW camp or another. Colonel Hogan couldn't save everyone.

Karl's thoughts strayed to his sister, Greta; when they last spoke, she had been hours away from being arrested by the Gestapo for suspected Underground activities. As a child, Greta had always been outspoken, a characteristic she hadn't fully managed to temper by the time she left for university.

He could still vividly recall the tremor in her voice when she spoke to him in the hotel in Hammelburg. She had begged - begged! - for his help. Even if it was just a few marks. But what she really needed was a way out of Germany. But he was only a corporal in the Luftwaffe; he had no influence, no power to save her. His own sister, and he was helpless to save her.

A sudden crashing sound yanked him back to where he should be - on the road. For the second time that night, Karl was forced to slam on the brakes to avoid an untimely end, this time from a tree suddenly falling across the road in front of him. His exclamation this time was far more colorful.

"Hey, what's going on up there?" Hogan demanded loudly from the rear of the truck. "You just about got prisoner pancake back here!"

Karl was about to reply when he heard the ominous click of a gun being cocked inches from his ear.

"You keep very still and quiet, Fritz, or your head is going to have a nice new hole in the back of it," a voice whispered harshly in English. Karl swallowed, not moving an inch as his hands clutching the steering wheel. "Good boy," the unseen man replied.

"Hey, what-" came a sudden voice from the back of the truck. "Cap, guess who we found! It's Corporal Woods! And a couple of other guys, too."

"Keep your voice down, Anderson," 'Cap' hissed. A rough hand yanked Karl out of the cab and pushed him towards the back of the vehicle.

All three of his prisoners were now out of the truck, along with two other men, dressed in flight gear and definitely looking somewhat the worse for wear from their bail-out and landing. But they clapped their fellow on the shoulder, greeting their lost comrade warmly, and completely missing Colonel Hogan's irritated expression.

"Are you in charge of these guys?" Hogan demanded, addressing the man currently holding a gun to Karl's head.

There was a pause, as if his captor suddenly realized that he was standing in front of a superior officer.

"Yes, sir. And you can thank me for the rescue later. We need to get this Kraut here to drive us to Switzerland. Either of you two speak German?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation Notes:  
> "Ja. Vielen Dank für die Warnung, Hauptgefreiter." : "Yes, thanks for the warning, Hauptgefreiter."  
> "Ich werde vorsichtig sein." : "I'll be careful."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Karl thinks it can't get any worse... it gets worse.

_Switzerland?_ Karl felt faint. There was no way he could drive a truck full of escaped Allies all the way to Switzerland. This was the heart of Germany; he would be caught within a few miles, and he could not imagine a scenario which ended well for any of them. For his own part, he'd probably be given a one-way ticket to the Russian Front for his perceived incompetence.

Meanwhile, Hogan glared impatiently at the leader of the Allied airmen, who still held a gun to Karl's head. "Put the gun down. He's not going anywhere. _Mach dir keine Sorgen. Ich werde damit umgehen,"_ he said, looking right at Karl, who nodded nervously. If anyone _could_ handle this situation, it was Colonel Hogan, and he was more than happy to just remain silent and frozen.

Karl felt the pressure of the gun barrel disappear from the back of his head after a moment. The unseen American roughly shoved him forward against the back of the truck. "Stay there, and don't move, Fritz!" he ordered sternly.

 _"Sie sind genauso ängstlich wie du bist. Entspannen Sie sich,"_ Hogan told Karl. Karl didn't find Colonel Hogan's words to be very reassuring - these airmen may very well be just as scared as he was, but they might still shoot him at any moment. He was entirely in the hands of an Allied officer who had been locked away in a German POW camp. Silently, Karl began another round of desperate prayers that he just make it through this. He wanted to see Greta again someday.

Meanwhile, Colonel Hogan turned his attention back to the Allied captain. "What's your name?"

Now against the truck, Karl finally got a good look at his captor: taller than Hogan, his fair hair and blue eyes gleaming in the pale moonlight wouldn't be out of place on a Nazi propaganda poster, though he, like his men, was covered in dirt and detritus from their flight through the woods. "Captain Tom McCaffrey, 504th Bombers, sir," he saluted stiffly.

Hogan did a double-take before returning the salute.

"You're with the 504th?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, sir," Captain McCaffrey replied, somewhat confused by Hogan's reaction.

"Unbelievable. My own bombing group! When you get back to England, you'll have to tell your CO he has a really _lousy_ sense of timing," Hogan remarked acerbically. "Colonel Robert E. Hogan, formerly of the 504th, currently a member of good standing at the Stalag 13 country club."

"Colonel Hogan, sir!" the captain exclaimed in shock. "I heard you got shot down over Hamburg! I was one of the guys they brought in to take your squadron back up to full strength, sir. You're something of a legend with the 504th."

"Fantastic," LeBeau muttered. "Now that we are finished with the family reunion, _mon Colonel_ , can we please figure out what we are going to do about them?"

"Hey, what do you mean, 'do about them,' Frenchie?" one of the other airmen demanded suspiciously.

The irritated little Frenchman glared at the American. "My name is Corporal Louis LeBeau, and I meant exactly what I said."

"We have this Kraut here drive us all to Switzerland, that's what's going to happen," McCaffrey growled at LeBeau, obviously not impressed by either his height or nationality.

"You wouldn't get ten miles, Captain," Hogan pointed out in exasperation. "His orders are only good between Stalag 13 and Hammelburg. And one guard for six men is more than a little suspicious."

McCaffrey crossed his arm impatiently. "It's as good a plan as any, sir, and we certainly aren't going to stay here!"

Karl, looking past the Americans, suddenly saw the distant headlamps of at least two vehicles coming up the road behind them, no doubt on their way from Dusseldorf or Hammelburg. Gathering his courage, he spoke up in a sudden rush of words. _"Herr Oberst, es kommt jemand!"_

The American captain raised his pistol again, pressing it against Karl's cheek. "I thought I told you to keep quiet, Fritz!" he hissed angrily.

Heeding Karl's words, Hogan looked behind him and saw exactly what Karl had seen.

"Put that gun down, Captain, that's an order! We got company." When McCaffrey hesitated, Hogan grabbed the gun out of his hand and stuffed it in LeBeau's bag, which was concealed just inside the back of the truck. "Now, all of you, get to work moving that tree off the road. Now!" he ordered sternly. All the airmen obeyed with alacrity, including, thankfully, McCaffrey. "Langenscheidt, you grab your rifle and stand guard," Hogan told Karl in an undertone.

Karl nodded, understanding Hogan's (admittedly somewhat desperate) plan. He retrieved his weapon from the cab where he'd left it when he was captured by the American captain and posed what he hoped was a sufficiently menacing guard over the Allied 'prisoners' struggling with the tree. In a terrifyingly brief breadth of time, the other vehicles pulled up behind them. The first was a staff car, the second a personnel truck.

A short, black-clad figure instantly jumped from the staff car and stomped towards them.

 _"What is going on here? Why is this tree blocking the road?"_ demanded the familiar, impatient voice of Major Wolfgang Hochstetter of the Gestapo. _"Who are these men?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The _real_ 504th Bombardment Group was actually served in the Pacific theater during the War and was finally inactivated in June of 1946. They have the distinction of flying the final combat mission by the United States Army Air Forces during World War II.
> 
> For anyone who might be wondering, Karl's sister Greta is my own creation. Her situation with the Gestapo (and her subsequent escape) are the subject of Chapter 4 of an earlier fic of mine, [_Home Sweet Home_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/888922/chapters/1714269). Greta was also borrowed by **Susan M. M.** for her fic, _Those in Darkness_ , where in a brief scene Hochstetter interrogates Karl regarding Greta.
> 
> Translation Notes:  
> "Mach dir keine Sorgen. Ich werde damit umgehen" : "Don't worry. I'll deal with it.  
> "Sie sind genauso ängstlich wie du bist. Entspannen Sie sich," : "They're just as scared as you are. Relax.  
> "Herr Oberst, es kommt jemand!" : "Colonel, someone's coming!"


End file.
